


He Reminds Me Of Someone

by sugarbungaius



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: (canon compliant deaths), Blood, Canon Compliant, Gen, Headcanon, Major character death - Freeform, War, father/son relationship, gaius has made an appearance because of course he has, if you played awakening they won’t surprise you, innocent people die but this is Fire Emblem, it is a headcanon after all, just wanted to write this because i’m emotional, mention of suicide but only once and nothing amounts from it, mention of vomiting, mustafa in FEH, mustafa’s family are all OC, set pre-plegia/ylisse war, use of expletive curse words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarbungaius/pseuds/sugarbungaius
Summary: Fire Emblem Awakening headcanon set during the Ylissean war around the Gangrel arc, focusing on the father/son dynamics between the misunderstood dark mage Henry and the fearsome General Mustafa.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 34





	1. Before the Rainfall

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a big softie baby who loves Henry and Mustafa’s father/son dynamic and I wish we got to see more of it in Awakening, and I’m grateful for the small amount we’ve been given in FEH!
> 
> I decided to write my own headcanon about it because I’m a baby snbsjsjsks

Mustafa was a man of few words, but those he did speak held truth. So on that quiet, balmy evening - the night before the rain fell - when he looked earnestly into Henry’s eyes and said “I love you as I loved my own son” it should be known that he told no lie. 

Henry had carried it around with him since. It had baffled him beyond reasonable comprehension, to be on the receiving end of love. He’d lived almost completely devoid of human contact for so long that to hear he was cared for left a rather unsettling feeling within the confines of his heart. 

And he often wondered if there was even much of his heart left.

He was always smiling - he was almost infamous for it. His pale face permanently set in a quirky little grin, his giggling voice popping out chirp after chirp of badly timed puns and wise cracks. _Here he comes..._ people would say, and he knew what they meant. He unnerved them, unsettled them. It made sense, when he thought about it, he did talk way too much about blood.

He didn’t always mean it. Sure, the idea of dying just _fascinated_ him. Where does one end up once their corpse has collapsed in a rotting heap, he wondered. But the whole “I love murder, I have such a _thing_ for killing” shtick was mostly for a reaction. Who could blame him, after all that time in solitude. Having people look at him felt great. Having people fear him felt even better. Nobody would try to hurt him out of sheer terror he would hurt them back, so, so much harder. 

Plegia was a desolate land, plagued with poor farming thanks to its thick desert wastes and near to no rainfall. It was hot, it was humid. The poverty rate was alarmingly high, if you didn’t get work in the King’s army you were almost guaranteed to live your life out in the slums. Hell, even the mad old King himself was a tear away who’d grown up on the streets - not a drop of royal blood left in all of Plegia, Henry assumed. Their system was corrupt, their rulers and leaders all cherry picked by who was the most psychotic it seemed. Henry figured he might’ve had a chance at becoming King, had he tried hard enough.

But politics wasn’t really for Henry, all things considered. He was content to just _exist_. He found it difficult to feel bad about his poor start in life when the entirety of Plegia was stricken with it. That’s why he was so well known for being “that cheery oddball” - who could find time to smile in times like these? Gangrel’s men whispered of assassination plots, on the Exalt of Ylisse, on the Prince, blood to be paid back for the thousands of Plegian lives lost under the previous Exalt’s bloody rule. Henry liked the thought. He almost found himself blaming Ylisse for his troubles. 

But he knew it wasn’t true. His parents didn’t abandon him because of poverty, or because of fear, or because of some fancy Exalt with royal blood on his royal throne in his royal old fucking country. His parents abandoned him because he was a skinny weed with _magical_ affinity. 

There were three divisions in Plegia - the assassins; those who picked pockets, broke into houses and murdered you without leaving a trace, the barbarians; who were most suited to work for the King, leaving bloodshed and chaos in the wake of their axes, and the lesser populous but still quite useful sorcerers. The sorcerers and dark mages were very rarely looked upon favourably. Magic was a dangerous and confusing entity and most people feared what they could not understand. The Grimleal were almost entirely sorcerers and mages and they were widely feared and abhorred, and it shone such a dark and eerie light on _anyone_ with magical affinity. 

The notion of abandoning your child because you don’t want to be associated with a death cult who worship an evil dragon God overlord is still, in Henry’s eyes, a little out of line. As soon as he cast his first mini spell - a very weak Nosferatu at age 5 - his barbaric parents sent him off to what they _called_ the “Magic School”, but it was just an incarceration centre for magic kids, with a devout Grimleal headmaster raising up a little army of would-be devotees to the religion.

Henry was almost immune to the call of Grima, it seemed. Throughout every lesson, and every beating, and every fucking punishment, the other kids caved and begged for forgiveness, begged to be offered to the Fell Dragon. But not Henry. He endured every whack, every spell, he basically _absorbed_ it. Wanted to use it, to fuel his sick need for vengeance. 

He was sure his parents were long dead by now, under Gangrel’s distopic rule not many had a chance. But if they weren’t, he would’ve killed them himself. 

He was just broaching his twenties when the first whispers of war against Ylisse began to truly break. Things began to change; people were called on to fight - bandit raids on Ylissean villages - despite not being enlisted. Poverty stricken villages with no pennies to their name were raided for suitable men to stand on the frontlines. It was sad, Henry thought. These people couldn’t fight. These people were given no weapons, some were raiding Ylissean border towns armed with kitchen cleavers. 

With a burning curiosity he decided to join the army, anyway. He didn’t have a lot to lose. And nobody stood to lose him, unless you counted his various animal friends. 

It didn’t take much to convince Gangrel, despite not being Grimleal nor magical himself, he seemed to instantly trust that Henry would fight for him. The man was a nutter. Though Henry supposed he didn’t have many options. 

That’s when he met Mustafa. 

~

Mustafa was broad, and tall, towering above most of his soldiers. He was a leading General in the Plegian army, commanding a fleet of hundreds. Many respected him for his tactical prowess, many for his sheer strength and power. 

He had served under two Plegian kings, and Gangrel was the third. Each more savage and psychotic than his predecessor. They never lasted very long. In Plegia, you were only useful for as long as you could stay out of the line of an assassination plot. And with the politics system as janky and corrupt as it was in Plegia, there was always someone looking to stick an arrow in your pulse point.

His morals screamed to him almost daily that the war, the fighting, the bloodshed, was all wrong. But he was a General. Not a politician. It was his job to follow orders, not question them.

Mustafa carried a great deal of guilt on his shoulders. His son, Alcinder, had died while fighting for the last fallen King - and rather than raise hell as he had wanted, Mustafa simply buried his son and grieved in silence. He may have been built of pure fire, pure muscle, but inside he was weak. He was afraid. He had a wife, he had a daughter, who’s to say that attempting to avenge his son would not end in their deaths? Plegia was a rotten place. He had no doubt that the King would send a fleet to his door, holding knives with his family’s names on them. 

Not a day went by that he didn’t pray for his son’s peace. He had never been a religious man, the Grimleal being the only living religion left in Plegia and he thought the entire notion of it was absolute fucking crock pot. Who worshipped a dead dragon who’s only goal was to end mankind? Mustafa wasn’t a judgemental man but the entire premise seemed bonkers. So he prayed directly to Alcinder, beginning forgiveness, wishing him peace and well rest. 

Mustafa’s wife, Marun, was a gentle lady. She mourned her son, this much was obvious - but without a hateful bone in her body she found it difficult to comprehend Mustafa’s guilt. _The King is the reason for his death... not you._ She would whisper it over, and over, praying one day that her husband would believe her. Their daughter, Tira, was too young to understand the war at the tender age of eight, but she felt the pain of losing her dear big brother. She wanted to become a strong general just like her Father and fight for “the right reasons”. It never failed to make Mustafa smile, that with all the hate and evil in his world, his dear wife and daughter could lift his spirits no matter what. 

He doubted that he would ever forgive himself for allowing Alcinder to die in vain. He doubted that in whatever time he had left on Earth that he would ever truly feel at peace again. Fatherhood was the one thing that brought him joy, that left him rooted to the Earth. 

He missed his son. How he wished that once he passed on, he was able to join him in spirit.

~

Mustafa stood, silent and completive, on the dying market’s edge one morning - his mind awry with thoughts. The stalls were almost empty, barely a ware to be had, but the people were out in flock - anything to make their world seem normal. Everyone had heard the whispers by now.

Mustafa’s presence in the city had been Gangrel’s idea. _The General is watching over you. Nobody try to run._

He was being used as a threat. Even stood there, tall and imposing, he felt weak. He felt useless. A pawn in Gangrel’s plan.

“Hey, mister General!”

Shocked from his thoughts; Mustafa looked down, he stood at a towering 6”5, to see a petite young man with snowy white hair, snowy white skin and a charmingly endearing grin etched onto his face. “Good day, boy.” he said deeply, taking in the boy’s robes. They were fondly familiar.

“Boy!” the boy chuckled airily, “I’m older than I look, you know!”

“I shall take your word for it.” Mustafa replied. He raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Not really.” the boy shrugged, his voice was high in pitch, light and delicate. It was charming to listen to. “Just saying hello.” 

Mustafa smiled warmly. He wasn’t one for small talk, but it was pleasant to see somebody smiling for once - not many bright faces in Plegia anymore. 

“I’m joining your fleet!” 

Mustafa crossed his thick arms and tipped his head. “Is that right?” The boy made a sound of affirmation. “King Gangrel usually equips me with fighters and soldiers. You’re saying he shall offer me a mage? I take by your Grimleal robes that you’re of magical affinity.”

The boy wagged a finger. “Well firstly, I am a mage.” he said. “A pretty good one!”

Mustafa suppressed a chuckle. The kid had attitude, he’d give him that much.

“But I’m not Grimleal.” he gestured to the markings on his cloak - the eye pattern that Grima’s followers wore to honour his name. “This is just the only cloak I have.”

Mustafa let out a hearty laugh. “Ah, because it’s so cold here in Plegia!” he said sarcastically. “How ever would you cope without your cape?”

The boy grinned widely. “You got a point!” He didn’t remove the cloak, however, but he did seem to be surveying Mustafa with interest - as if waiting for him to say something else.

Mustafa had nerves of steel, and so he didn’t. He stared hard back at the boy, fascinated by his raw enthusiasm. 

“Not one for small talk, are ya, General?”

Mustafa shrugged noncommittally, and then looked away from the boy’s dark gaze. His eyes were almost red in colour, a swirling amber colour with flecks of fire dancing in his irises. It felt as though he was staring directly into his soul. “I’m a man of few words, boy.”

“The name’s Henry.” 

“Henry, is it?” Mustafa looked back. “Doesn’t sound very Plegian.”

Henry shrugged. “I didn’t choose it.”

“Of course. Perhaps you could ask your parents?”

“They’re dead. Maybe. Hopefully!”

Mustafa was startled by the cheery boy’s optimism and didn’t know how to respond.

“Don’t worry!” Henry quipped. “They deserve it. I promise.”

“I shall take your word for it, boy.”

“Henry!”

“Then, I shall take your word for it, Henry.”

Henry grinned and chuckled airily. “I hope I get to kill lots of people while I’m fighting for you, General.”

“We shouldn’t talk pleasure in killing, Henry. It is but a duty we carry out to protect the people.”

Henry seemed pensive for a split second, but then cracked his cheery smile again. “Nah, I definitely take pleasure in killing people. ‘Specially if they deserve it.”

Mustafa rubbed his brow line. Under his own decision, he wouldn’t allow what was clearly a mentally maladjusted boy fight in his army. However, it wasn’t his decision, it was Gangrel’s. And ultimately, an unbalanced boy with a penchant for murder was a fighter more worth having than a poor village merchant with no combat skills at all. 

“Well, gotta be off!” Henry giggled. “The crows will be wonderin’ where I am!” 

With a swish of his cloak, he was off, floating easily through the crowd of market goers, that sparkling smile visible even as he reached the opposite end of the stalls. 

Usually new recruits cowered under Mustafa’s height, his imposing stoic personality - yet this tiny mage didn’t show even an ounce of fear. 

_What a strange young thing._

~


	2. No Joy in Killing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for coming back for chapter 2!
> 
> I really appreciate the kudos on the first chapter, I thought FE fanfic fandom was dead except for 3H so I’m very happy people are here and people like Henry!!!!!! 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read!

There’s an eerie sort of silence settling amongst the fleet of soldiers, barely a whisper of dry night wind disturbing the dead air as they stood - shoulder to shoulder - waiting for their orders. 

They were brothers-and-sisters-in-arms, men and women with families, friends, homes. Yet here they stand, apt to risk it all in the name of a mad King. 

“Eyes upwards, soldiers.” Mustafa called, his voice carrying through the silence with practiced ease. “Our goal is to pillage everything, destroy the market stalls, tear down the merchant housing.” 

Nods of affirmation came back to him. Nobody was eager for this. A strike on a village between Ylisse and Plegia. Innocent people sleeping in their homes, would wake to carnage, to flame. To the traces of destruction at the hands of terrified Plegian warriors.

“Let me hear you!” Mustafa shouted.

“Yes, General!” the soldiers called back, their voices trembled, the fear evident. Mustafa understood. He also felt the shudder of guilt, the bad taste of poor decisions in his mouth. But Gangrel had made it _very_ clear. Follow orders, or pay the highest price.

Henry stands near the front, an eager smile on his bright face. He knew it was unsettling his comrades, to see him looking excited at the upcoming prospect, but he couldn’t help the tingling of anticipation thrumming through his blood. He hadn’t slaughtered anyone since his days at the Grimleal incarceration school. He’d filtered much of his rage and anger in those years, honing his magical talent through murder. The past few years he’d spent travelling, rather than killing. He decided it was time to get back in the swing of things. 

Mustafa didn’t miss the way Henry’s eyes were twinkling as he stood inline, a head shorter than his comrades, without a trace of fear on his features. He clutched a purple book in his hands, his dark robes billowing gracefully around his body. Such a stark contrast to the bone and fur clad barbarians of the ranks and the iron plated chest-armoured soldiers. Yet he was the one who looked the most ready. 

“If there’s no complaints,” Mustafa’s voice rumbled, “then, we march!”

With a swift raise of his arm, his soldiers took to a charge - running with reckless abandon towards the small, sleeping village with their weapons raised high. Mustafa fell into step alongside them, brandishing his heavy axe in one strong arm, his powerful legs propelling his muscular body forward with a speed belying his hulking form. 

Henry practically skipped. He whistled a merry little tune in his head as they advanced, his blood thrumming at an alarming rate, he could even feel his heart rate slow as he began to focus his energy. His finger tips began to tingle with excitement.

Within minutes, their army had broached the village border. They made short work of ripping down the wooden merchant stalls, their axes swinging wildly and chopping everything down. Henry watched idly by, his eyes darting around as he waited for the doors of the quaint houses to open. He wasn’t here to rip down market stalls. He was here to kill. 

It didn’t take long for the sleeping villagers to become alert to the noises outside their homes, brave men and women coming to their doors armed with what little weaponry they had to defend their families. 

“Be gone from here!” a young man shouted from a doorway. 

A dark purple shadow rocketed through the air and hit the man square in the chest. His voice stilled and his eyes bulged, the air went silent as the army paused their actions to turn to him curiously. His body suddenly exploded, one of his arms flew up into the air and came crashing down by a Plegian soldier near the front. 

The scene descended into _chaos_.

The villagers began to scream, _dark magic!_ , _Grimleal!_ , _Naga is punishing us!_

“Do not falter!” Mustafa bellowed over the chaos. “We have a job to do! Do not forget your King’s orders!”

Most of his soldiers were shaken, many of them had never seen a spell being cast let alone such a dark one, but they forced their trembling bodies to perform the necessary actions. Any villager who fought back was slaughtered on the spot. The air was heavy. Mustafa wasn’t sure whether it was because of their actions or because of that jolting, shadowed spell, but the army seemed to act as if on auto pilot, darkness and terror in their hearts.

The streets were painted with blood. 

Yet, there were no more flashes of dark spells rocketing through the air. 

~

The soldiers were tired, their armour stained with the blood of innocent Ylisseans. They were cold, and hungry, and yet they marched on home towards Plegia. It was so late that it was early, the day break just mere hours away. Their bodies ached. But they knew that they could not afford to stop, lest a Ylissean vigilante attack be sprung on them.

Mustafa led the group, tall and bold, yet tonight he felt no pride. What Gangrel had asked him to lead had been nothing short of despicable. Innocent people dead, and for what? To incite a war that would lead to no good. His blood boiled in rage, but mostly he shook with his own shame. Alcinder would be disgusted by his actions, he was sure. 

As he marched, lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the presence of Henry creeping up on him. 

“Hey, General!” 

He looked down, his ears shocked to the sound of someone speaking. Everyone else travelled in dead silence - weary, exhausted. Not that Henry did anything in anyway like anyone else. 

“Hello, lad.” Mustafa said warmly. “What brings you to me?”

“You seem kinda sad.” Henry chirped. They were walking some way ahead of the rest of the group - Mustafa’s legs giving him longer stride and Henry seemed steeped in energy that the others no longer had. 

“Ah,” Mustafa said gently, “I am not sad, boy. Simply mourning the losses tonight.”

Henry pondered for a second. “We didn’t lose any soldiers tonight!”

“The losses of Ylisse, boy.” Mustafa replied. “Many innocents died. Some did not even attempt to fight back. It is a tragedy.”

“I didn’t think you would feel sad about guys on the other side dying, General.”

Mustafa heaved a small sigh. “It’s complicated. War is a confusing topic. Who is good, and who is bad? It is hard to tell. I’d wager that no side has the moral high ground. There is fault and blame to be placed everywhere. The innocents are just collateral damage in a much darker, much grander scheme.”

Henry mused over the General’s speech. “You’re sad ‘cos those people didn’t deserve to die.”

“Sad, perhaps, is not the correct word.” Mustafa replied. “I’ve been a General for many years, and a warrior within the army many years prior. I have seen too much death to feel sorrow, any longer. I simply mourn for more peaceful times.”

“That’s really wise if you.” Henry admitted. “Didn’t think a big scary General with such a bloodstained history would have such political views. Maybe you should’ve been King!”

“Saying so is treason, boy.” Mustafa chuckled.

“Huh. You’re probably right.” Henry sighed. “Tonight wasn’t what I expected.”

“We were given a job, and we carried it out.” Mustafa said deeply. “Did you expect the King’s best General to fail?”

Henry shook his head vehemently. “No sir! I just mean that I didn’t have much fun.”

Mustafa cast a glance down at Henry. He was keeping up, having to take two steps for every one of Mustafa’s, his fluffy white hair bouncing around his head as he skipped. “You expected to have fun?”

“Yessir.” Henry responded. “I haven’t killed anybody for a few years, I was kinda excited!”

“I noticed a lack of magic being cast, I shall admit.”

Henry nodded. He let out a small sound of disappointment. “I killed that first guy and I just didn’t feel good. So I thought, ‘why waste your energy?’ and didn’t bother killing anybody else.”

“Guilt is a common feeling, after killing. I know it all too well, lad.”

“I didn’t feel guilty, General.” Henry admitted. “I just didn’t feel good! I kinda expected a rush, a buzz... some tingling in my toes!” He let out a giggle. “But I felt less than nothing.”

Mustafa wrinkled his brow. “So, you came to me to fight for your own pleasure, you didn’t come to fight for crown and your country.”

Henry looked up, a cheeky glint in his eye. “I don’t care much for Gangrel’s politics.” 

“A bold lad, admitting that to one of his leading Generals.” Mustafa couldn’t suppress his chuckles.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” Henry asked teasingly. “Kill me?” 

“No, boy.” Mustafa smiled. “Though I will advise that you step down from enlistment. I can’t do to have men on my fleet that refuse to fight for the cause, simply because they did not feel like it on the night! I think you would be better off standing down.”

“Huh,” Henry stuck his tongue out a little, “can I have more more chance, General? You know I’m strong now. Would be a shame to let all this talent go to waste, don’t ya think?”

Mustafa chuckled again. The boy had a certain charm to him, even if he was completely crackers. “Allow me to ask just why you thought that you would have fun, tonight?”

“Well,” Henry started, “every time I ever killed anyone in the past it felt _good_.”

“You did say that you took pleasure in murder.” Mustafa said. “Many do, Henry, but it is not a quality we should be proud of.”

“Maybe so,” Henry sighed, “but I didn’t take any pleasure tonight. It was kinda boring.”

“What were the reasons for your past killings?” Mustafa asked. “If you do not mind my asking.”

Henry sniffed a little, but then spoke. “First time I ever killed anybody it was because they hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” 

Henry tutted a sound of agreement. “Some kid back at my old school.”

“Is that so?” Mustafa noted Henry’s demeanour changing a little. He seemed uncharacteristically solemn. 

“Yep. So I cast a spell so dark and powerful that bits of his brain ended up on the ceiling.” the boy’s voice chirped up a little at the memory. 

Mustafa was a hardened man, he’d seen many things during his time serving the country, but a weaker man may well have grimaced. “The boy had been unkind to you?”

Henry nodded. “The older kids were mean to me. Because I was better at magic than them. Because I didn’t get whipped the same as them. The old teachers used to hit me if I refused to say the Grimleal prayers, but it never hurt. I think the other kids didn’t like that I wasn’t suffering. They wanted to make me suffer, in the same way that they suffered. Kinda sick... but I guess... we’re all a little sick, aren’t we General?” 

Mustafa listened to Henry’s story in silence. It chilled his bones to think of so many magic children being mistreat by people who were supposed to be teaching them. He wondered how much of this had shaped Henry. Had he been a normal boy before all of this? A pit formed in his heart just thinking about it. 

“They hit me at first, you know? The other kids.” Henry said. “Threw things at me, pulled my hair. I didn’t care.” 

“So, what was it that made you kill him?”

“He told me that my parents didn’t love me.”

Mustafa frowned. “I see.”

“It made me mad. So I killed him.”

Mustafa let a hand gently drop onto Henry’s head, and he petted his hair gently. “You’ve had some hardships, lad.” 

“The worst part is, he was right.” Henry sniffed. “And I knew he was right. My parents didn’t care about me.” 

Mustafa frowned. “I’m sorry, lad. No one deserves to grow up without love from their parents.”

Henry smiled up at Mustafa. “Thanks. Sorry to put all that on ya! But you did ask, sir.”

Mustafa smiled gently. “Not a bother, lad. I will always lend an ear to my warriors. However, if you will allow me to impart some advice, I’d wager I know why you didn’t feel so good killing that boy, tonight.” 

Henry giggled. “Please inform me, oh wise one.”

“Yes.” Mustafa smiled softly. “You had no reason to murder him. I think perhaps you were waiting for the rush of satisfaction from killing someone who was deserving of death... someone who had hurt you. Tonight, that young man gave you no reason. Tonight, you felt no completion. Only emptiness.”

Henry was silent. 

“Sorry, boy.” Mustafa said gently. “Perhaps you don’t love killing as much as you thought.”

“Hey, don’t rush ahead of yourself mister General!” Henry giggled indignantly. “Thinking you got me all sussed out, is that it? Well, I’ll have you know I murdered an entire _village_ once!”

“An entire village, you say?”

Henry nodded and gurgled a little indignant “hmf” - he almost reminded Mustafa of Tira. Perhaps even of Alcinder, in his youth. “The whole village. You know Pilfin?”

“Ah,” Mustafa nodded wisely, “the Pilfin incident, I have heard whispers. The entire village eradicated in one night. When the merchants came to town in the morning they found everyone slaughtered, some still in their beds, body parts everywhere... quite harrowing, or so I’m told.”

“Yeah, well, that was me!” Henry snapped. He sounded like he was being huffy but Mustafa could still see that mischievous twinkle in his amber eyes. 

“Can you prove it, lad?” 

Henry stuck his tongue out. “Nuh-uh... I could prove that it _could_ have been me by murdering the entire fleet behind us, if ya like!”

Mustafa let out a hearty laugh, the lad certainly had a sense of humour. “Best not, boy. I can’t say Gangrel will be overly happy at the loss of a good quarter of his army!”

“Well you’ll have to take my word for it.” Henry grinned.

“If that truly was you, Henry lad, do tell me why in anyone’s name you decided to raze an entire village?” 

Henry sniffed. “The border patrollers killed my wolf.”

“Say again, boy?”

“My wolf! I had a friend who was a wolf. She looked after me on nights when I used to sneak out of the Grimleal school. It was in the woods near Pilfin.”

“I see... and you say they killed her?”

Henry’s fists seemed to ball. “Yessir. One night I went out to find her... I walked for a long time. I came to the village border and found them trying to take her pelt.”

Mustafa grimaced. This lad had been through some turmoils, no wonder he was a curious one. “I’m sorry, boy.”

“Not your fault!” Henry chirped.

“Although this does not help your case.” Mustafa said wisely. “You took pleasure in killing those people out of revenge... honouring your wolf’s name. Again, this lad you killed tonight had not harmed you - hence why you feel no joy, no satisfaction.”

Henry looked up, his eyes wide, his mouth parted in a soft “O” shape. 

“Perhaps you are understanding now, lad.”

A soft silence fell between the two. Mustafa heard the flapping of wings, and glanced upwards. A flock of crows circled in the sky above them, jet black and sleek looking. It was beautiful, but rather eerie. 

“They’re my buddies.” Henry said, pointing up at the crows. “My only buddies.”

Mustafa looked down at Henry, and felt a weight in his heart. This boy had gone unloved for so long that he considered animals to be his only friends. “Not anymore.” Mustafa said kindly. “I am happy to be your friend, if you would like.”

Henry grinned, wide and bright. “That sounds super! Didn’t think a super strong General would wanna be friends with me!”

“You are super strong yourself, Henry. More than you know.” 

Henry beamed at the praise. “Thanks a bunch, mister General.”

“You can call me Mustafa, lad.”

“I’ll think about it.” Henry giggled. A large crow descended from the flock and perched gently on Henry’s shoulder. He petted the bird’s head softly with a single finger, cooing a little tune to it. “Hey, I can still stay in the army, right?”

“I see no reason why not,” Mustafa said softly. “I do think you need some time to search yourself, ask yourself why you fight. The men and women here fight for crown and country, for their families. You must find a reason to fight, else you will make a rather unreliable soldier.”

Henry nodded, still petting the crow on his shoulder absentmindedly. “Okay! I’ll work on it. I promise.”

Mustafa smiled, and that soft silence descended on them once more. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon now, the air was becoming thicker and denser, a sign that they were closing in on Plegia. 

“Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“If ever you want to have dinner with my family, you are most welcome.”

Henry’s shoulders hunched, and his crow friend fluttered up into the air in surprise. 

“Everything okay, boy?”

Henry nodded gently. “Thank you... Mustafa. Thank you very much.”

The General didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. He could hear in the way that Henry’s tiny voice broke that the conversation was over.

They marched onwards in silence, but both of their hearts felt lighter than they had in a long time. 

~


	3. Unfamiliar Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming back to read chapter 3! I’m so alarmingly motivated to get this finished that I’m just kinda BAMMING it out. ^__^
> 
> I really appreciate you taking the time to come by, thanks again for validating my urges to make Mustafa be the cutest papa in the world !!!!!

Henry’s fingers trembled with nerves, which was so out of character for him that he felt almost as if he had been possessed by someone else. He couldn’t accurately recall the last time he felt fear, potentially would have to have been the day his parents abandoned him, but when he tried to recollect the thoughts he couldn’t feel anything other than rage so he couldn’t be certain. The shiver in his limbs, the pounding of his usually slow heart and the dryness of his mouth felt so alien to him.

Everything since his dark and troubled childhood had been a whooshing blur. But within that blur he was absolutely sure he had never trembled, never wavered. Never felt the sharp pang of horror in the canals of his heart that signalled the brain’s flight response. Yet here he stood, at the door to Mustafa’s home, shaking like a lost child. What had gotten into him? He had half a mind to check he truly hadn’t been possessed. 

It had been a few weeks since Mustafa had invited him to dinner and young Henry had found every excuse under the Plegian sun not to go. It felt so _ordinary_ , but perhaps that was the ticket. To Henry, it was very unordinary. He had never been extended a dinner invitation in his life. 

Henry lived in a Plegian village within the Border Sands, a small town called Saban. It was fairly poverty stricken, much like most of Plegia, its housing was rickety and in dire need of investment. Not that Gangrel would invest into the poor border villages at any point in his tyrannical reign - resources went directly into funding conflict. Plegia was rich in battleships, a fleet of near one thousand units at the King’s command - but citizen housing? Well, they were left to rot. 

Henry’s home in particular was a small, singular room in the attic of a run down townhouse. He slept on a small bedroll, and his entire possessions other than this were his tomes he’d collected from his Grimleal study days and the clothes on his back. His house, well, room - was tidy. It was impossible to make a mess with such few things to make a mess with, but perhaps a little dirty. He couldn’t remember the last time he managed to clean it short of sweeping up the dust with gentle wind spells. 

The larger Plegian cities had water resources, courtesy of the large reservoirs that tanked the yearly rainfall, but the border villages had to rely on their own resources. A small, oasis river ran some five miles north, and Henry would sometimes travel there to collect water. Then, he filtered it and used it for consumption rather than cleaning. He wondered if Ylisse or even the neighbouring nation of Valm had villages as poverty stricken as Plegia. He doubted that they would care.

Two rats lived in Henry’s small room with him. He didn’t mind their company, in fact, he quite enjoyed it, and in the ceiling beams lived his family of crows. They fended for themselves, often he worried the crows would kill the rats in hunger, but so far the two separate factions had lived in peace. 

He managed to pay the mayor of the village for his room by helping to prepare the town’s food. He wasn’t much of a chef, but his aptitude with magic meant he was readily able to cast fire spells - meaning he was more than useful for creating campfires and cook-fires. The townsfolk didn’t communicate with him. He simply turned up to the evening soup dish-out, cast his fire magic, ate his soup in silence and returned home. It was a solitary life. An impoverished life. But he remained steadfast - after all, some of the citizens had good reason to be suspicious of him. He still wore his Grimleal robes that were way too small for him now - thank God he was such a small boy with stunted growth. They probably thought of him as some sort of spy sent by Gangrel himself. 

So, all things considered, standing outside Mustafa’s home was intimidating to say the least. He hadn’t the money to bring a gift - he had heard it was customary to bring a token of gratitude to a party-invite - and so he shivered with a little anxiety. This was _so_ not like him. 

Eventually, and upon hearing some clattering and movement from behind the door, he plucked up the courage to knock against the hard wood.

It didn’t take long for someone to answer - a middle aged, beautiful lady with gorgeous honey-dark skin and flowing brunette hair. “You must be Henry!” she said, her voice was lilted with kindness and airiness.

“Y-yes!” he chirped shyly. “That’s me!”

“Please, come in!” the lady stepped back, allowing Henry room to cross the threshold into the house. “I’m Marun, Mustafa has told me much about you.”

“Ah, good things, I hope?” Henry giggled. “If it was anything bad he’s lying. Honest!”

Marun laughed heartily at Henry’s rambling, closing the door behind him. “Only good things, child. He tells me that you’re a fearsome warrior.”

Henry shrugged coyly. “Only with magic, miss.”

“A mage is a warrior all the same, dear boy.” Marun replied earnestly. “May I take your cloak?”

Henry hunched his shoulders shyly. 

“You can keep it on, if you’d rather.” Marun smiled kindly. “It’s just a little warm in the house, that’s all.”

“I’m used to the heat.” Henry responded. “I’ll keep it on, if that’s okay.”

“Of course!” Marun smiled, and then gestured for Henry to follow her. She couldn’t help but pause to glance curiously at his face. “Mind, Mustafa was right. You really do have his smile.”

“Have whose smile?” Henry asked curiously.

“Mom!” a young girl’s voice called loudly. “Mom! The rice is boiling!”

Marun shook from her thoughts, and laughed. “I’m coming, Tira!” she smiled back at Henry. “Please take a seat at the table, dinner won’t be long.”

Henry nodded and shelved his questioning for the time being, much too nervous to dwell on it anyway. He followed Marun through the hallway into their kitchen, a room decorated in gorgeous oak and terracotta. Their dining table looked hand carved, a gorgeous stone centrepiece already adorned with an array of dishes and foods.

A young girl stood by the fire pot, stirring it ferociously. She was the image of Marun, skin dark and glowing and hair so glossy it looked like water. She beamed a sweet smile at Henry, and as he took a seat at the table he smiled back. “Mom,” the girl, who Henry could only assume was Tira, whispered, “Dad was right! He does smile just the same as-!”

Her Mother joined her by the pot quickly and hushed her. “It’s rude to talk about our guests within earshot, Tira.” she scolded lightly, but her voice was still soft and gentle. She took over stirring from Tira and Henry watched curiously as the pair worked on the rice, giggling and joking as they went. He wondered who he reminded them of, but it felt far too awkward to ask. 

“Dad likes it when the rice goes sticky,” Tira said wisely, “I hope I did it right!”

“It looks beautiful, Tira.” Marun responded, pouring the food into a large, ornamental bowl. “I’m sure he will love it.”

Henry’s heart felt a little achy as he watched. He couldn’t even remember what his mother looked like. Would she have held him the way Marun held Tira, had he not been born with magic?

“Henry, my boy!” Mustafa’s booming voice was a welcome shattering to Henry’s mournful thoughts. “Glad you could make it.”

“Of course, General!” Henry piped up cheerily. He forced a smile but he felt almost dead behind it. He didn’t belong here.

“I hope my dear wife and daughter haven’t been causing you any trouble.” Mustafa chuckled. 

“Dad!” Tira whined, sticking her tongue out. 

“I am joking, Tira.” Mustafa smiled, and then ruffled his daughter’s hair affectionately. Henry perked up a little - that was almost like the way he ruffled Henry’s hair on their first campaign together. And the campaign after that... come to think of it, Henry was fairly certain that Mustafa had made himself a habit out of petting Henry’s hair.

Henry looked up at Mustafa hopefully, and smiled. It was nice to see his General dressed so casually - gone was his fur and bone barbarian armour, replaced with a simple cotton shirt and trousers. He looked so... normal. It shocked Henry a little. Seeing him this way, smiling and laughing with his family - it was such a contrast from the terrifying war commander who demanded authority on the battlefield.

The family all took seats around the table alongside Henry, chattering amongst themselves. Henry waited until they had plated out their own food, before helping himself to some. “You should just stick right in, Henry! What a polite young man!” Marun remarked.

“What were you expecting, dear?” Mustafa said, “Our army is packed only with the most polite of soldiers-“

“You _know_ that’s not true, Mustafa...” Marun warned, a teasing lilt to her tone. “and how would I know? This is the first I’ve been introduced to!”

Henry giggled coyly, and Tira stuck her tongue out. “They’re not _really_ fighting.” she said. “They do this all the time!”

“You’re lucky,” Henry admitted, “to have such wonderful parents!”

“I know.” Tira said kindly. “What are your parents like?”

The air suddenly got thick, and Mustafa and Marun’s gentle, playful teasing went silent. Henry cleared his throat. “They’re ok.” he said softly. “No where near as cool as yours!”

Tira giggles excitedly, satisfied with Henry’s answer. Henry was focused down on his food and missed the way that Mustafa swelled with unexplainable pride - his heart felt warm upon hearing Henry’s little white lie to protect his daughter’s innocence. 

“How’s the food, Henry?” Marun asked, hoping to lighten the conversation a little. 

“It’s super good!” Henry said honestly, “I never had this before,” he gestured to the rice, “we mainly just eat soup in Saban.”

“You’re from Saban?” Mustafa choked on a lump of bread, and Marun tapped his thick back heartily until he regained his breathing, “boy, you never did say!”

“I didn’t think it was important!” Henry admitted. “Everywhere in Plegia is kinda...” he quickly shot a glance at Tira, and chose his words carefully, “...the same. It’s all the same.”

Mustafa and Marun both exchanged curt glances. “Saban is... it’s one of the places that...”

Henry shook his head earnestly. “It’s okay!” he said. “Really. I like it there.” he didn’t feel guilty lying, not in the slightest. He was slowly realising that he’d do anything to protect this family from worrying about him. 

“If you say so, boy.” Mustafa said, seemingly unconvinced, but he didn’t push the topic further.

“Dad says that you can do magic!” Tira giggled. “After dinner will you show me a spell?”

Henry glanced up at her parents, who were both smiling. “If it’s okay with your Mom and Dad, then sure!”

“Yay!” Tira giggled happily, clapping her hands. “I haven’t seen a spell for a long time!”

“Oh?” Henry eyed her curiously. “Most Plegians haven’t seen a spell ever! Where have you seen one?”

“Big brother!” Tira responded.

Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a big brother!”

The room went quiet. 

“He isn’t here any longer, lad.” Mustafa said gently. 

“Oh...” Henry swallowed thickly. “I’m really sorry.”

“No worries, lad.” Mustafa said kindly. “Here, have some more rice.” he lumped another hearty serving of food onto Henry’s plate. 

Henry wanted desperately to ask more about Mustafa’s son, but the room was so silent that he thought better of it. Perhaps he would be able to ask the next time they went to fight together. 

“Eat up, Tira!” Henry finally said gently. “If you don’t finish all your dinner then no spells, okay?”

“I bet I can eat twice as fast as you!” Tira challenged, heaping a great hulking mouthful of curry into her mouth.

“You’re on!”

~

The night had truly fallen now, stars twinkling in the sky, the air soft and silent. Tira was tucked up in bed, having fallen asleep after watching Henry’s “magic show” - he had shown her all of the Light spells that he knew, Elwind to cast tornados in the sand, Elfire to send sparks of colour shooting up into the air, he even cast a gentle Thunder that made her scream and clap excitedly. He didn’t show her any dark magic. He didn’t want to cast any dark magic. 

Marun had slipped inside after bidding Henry goodnight, she’d even placed a gentle kiss in his snowy white hair, leaving her husband outside enjoying the quiet. 

Henry didn’t want to break it. They sat on the stone doorstep to the house, Mustafa was quietly carving a large lump of stone with a hewn axe, humming a low tune as he worked. Henry enjoyed watching him. He felt like he could sit for hours, maybe even until the sun rose.

Eventually, it was Mustafa who spoke. “Thank you for coming tonight.” he said gruffly. “For entertaining young Tira like you did.”

Henry felt his heart fluttering. To be thanked for doing something that made him feel so _human_? He almost felt like he must have died in his last fight and gone to heaven. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely family.”

“Thanks, lad.” Mustafa said warmly. He stopped carving the stone to look at Henry. “You know... I never did mention my son.”

Henry shook his head. They had been fighting together for a few weeks, saved each other’s asses once or twice in that time. Mustafa had thrown his entire body in front of an archer’s barrage of arrows to protect Henry - even now Henry could see the slowly healing wounds in his arms. During the breaks in the fighting they had shared more stories, Henry mostly told jokes to stave off having to talk more about his past, but Mustafa had shared countless tales about his headstrong daughter and caring wife. Yet never had a son crossed his lips. 

“Alcinder was his name.” Mustafa said. “He was around your age when he passed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that he’s dead.” Henry said gently. 

“It isn’t your fault, Henry.” Mustafa said. “He died fighting for the last King. An honourable death. One any soldier should be proud of. Yet... I cannot help but feel I should’ve done more as a Father to prevent it.”

Henry didn’t have any words of comfort. He wasn’t used to communicating with people at all, let alone making them feel better.

“You... look like him.” Mustafa said, quietly.

“I do?”

The General nodded, warmly. “He had the same cheery smile. Every time you laugh, I feel almost as if he could be here.”

“I’m sorry... to bring back bad memories.” Henry said softly.

“You’re not, lad. They’re fond memories.” 

Henry rubbed his fingers together idly. “You must miss him a lot.”

“I do.” Mustafa said. 

“Your family,” Henry said, “they all have dark hair, warm skin, and they’re all so tall...”

“Alcinder was much the same.” Mustafa chuckled. “You don’t so much look like him, more like... carry yourself the same way.”

Henry wasn’t sure he fully understood, but the fond, kind smile on Mustafa’s face distracted him from asking any further. 

“Before I forget,” Mustafa spoke up suddenly, “Marun pulled these together.” 

Henry watched curiously as Mustafa reached behind himself and pulled a small bundle of robes from the porch. “What is it?”

“A new set of robes for you, lad, she’s quite handy with a thread and needle, makes all of Tira’s outfits... she used to stitch Alcinder’s robes too...” Mustafa trailed off. “I hope you will accept them. I apologise that I mentioned to her... that our mages aren’t offered armour from the King. She took it upon herself to craft you some herself.”

Henry felt a little embarrassed as he glanced down at his old robes, well worn, too short for him, a stark reminder of his Grimleal days. He thought it was more likely that Mustafa told Marun he was poor, than he told her the Army resources didn’t stretch to mages, but he was grateful all the same. Nobody had given him a gift before. “I don’t know what to say, General.” he mumbled.

“Say nothing, lad.” Mustafa handed Henry the bundle and he took them graciously. They felt luxurious in his hands, dark and silken, easy to move in he imagined. A lump was beginning to form in his throat and he wasn’t sure why. 

“I’m glad you came tonight, lad.” Mustafa said earnestly, braking the silence. “It’s late out, if you need somewhere to stay-“

“No!” Henry interrupted quickly, gathering his thoughts. “No, I’m quite fine. It won’t take me long to walk back to Saban. I can take care of myself!”

“You certainly can, Henry.” Mustafa smiled. 

They stood together, and suddenly Mustafa’s large hand shot out and ruffled Henry’s soft hair affectionately. 

“Thank you again, General.”

“You’re welcome any time, Henry.”

~


	4. Allegiances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little longer than I expected, I’ve been actually really low and down lately so... the motivation just wasn’t there. 
> 
> I worked on a personal project and eventually felt well enough to get this out.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by again!

It was a humid night - starry and relaxing, the dessert air was soft as it breezed effortlessly through the sands. There was a dampness to it, clammy in ways despite the cold, silently showing that the following night would be heavy with rain. 

Weeks had turned into months, Henry was growing weary of the war. His desire to kill had crept back up on him, much to his surprise. Not in cold-blood, but with the fiery passion to defend what was his. He had a reason to fight now. 

It had been a long time since he ate alone. Each night while they were away from battle, Mustafa invited him into his home as if he were a part of his family, and in ways he truly felt it. 

He and Tira had developed a close bond, he certainly had always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling - and now he knew. Often infuriating - she asked so many questions - but mostly just utterly charming, she seemed to worship the ground Henry walked on and he didn’t have the faintest idea why. He was just Henry. What interest did she have in him? 

As for Mustafa and Marun, he had never felt like he had parents. Never. From the second he was abandoned until the day Mustafa took him in, he had been completely alone. Now he had a Mother fussing over his hair, straightening his robes, making sure he was well fed, and a Father coaching his battle stance, bragging of his achievements and teaching him crafts. Henry didn’t think that he would ever learn how to hand carve an axe but the callouses on his hands were testament to how hard he had been working to learn the bare labour as Mustafa had been teaching him. 

Henry felt, for the first time ever, at peace with the world. As long as this war ended with Plegia in power, he could have everything he had ever dreamed of - a happy family, a happy home, people who loved him. Somewhere to practice his magic in peace. 

On that clammy night he stood outside of Mustafa’s house, enjoying the air, stomach full of stew and bread. Tira was long asleep - after three bedtime cuddles, two bedtime stories and a teeny tiny magic show. 

Mustafa joined him out on the porch. “Henry, my boy.”

Henry beamed up at the General. “Nice night!”

“Aye, it is lad.” Mustafa said warmly. “Humid.”

“It’s gonna rain tomorrow.”

“Finally.”

The night was silent around them for a moment. 

“Mustafa,” Henry said gently, “how long is the war gonna go on for?”

“I wish I knew, lad.” Mustafa grumbled. “Politics was never my thing... however...”

“What is it?” Henry asked curiously. 

“Nothing,” Mustafa sighed, he stared off into the distance. “I’m just rambling. Forget I said anything.”

“Naw,” Henry whined. “you gotta tell me! You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

“And what look would that be, Henry?” Mustafa chuckled.

“We’ve been fighting together a real long time now, I can tell when you’ve got something on your mind.” Henry said wisely. 

Mustafa took a deep breath. “Alright. But you mustn’t tell a soul. Not any of the soldiers. Not Marun. Not Tira.”

Suddenly, Henry felt solemn. This seemed much more serious than he was prepared for. 

“Do I have your word?” 

Henry looked up at Mustafa. “Something bad’s gonna happen, right? To the Exalt.”

Mustafa nodded slowly. “Gangrel... has no plans to allow her to go.”

“What’s he gonna do with her?”

“He intends to force a deal with the Prince of Ylisse in exchange for his sister’s life.” Mustafa spat. There was hatred in his eyes. “It’s a coward’s move. Pitiable and refutable. To think the King of my country would ever resort to such cowardice...”

Henry shivered involuntarily. Mustafa certainly was intimidating when he was serious. Henry was suddenly glad he was on the Plegian side. “What sort of deal is he trying to strike? He wants money...?”

Mustafa shrugged. “He’s a mad man, Henry. He keeps talking of the Fire Emblem, he wants it back from the Ylissean royals. Thinks it’ll grant him the power of the Gods... I don’t really understand it myself.”

“What’s a Fire Emblem?” Henry asked curiously. 

“Some holy shield granted to the Ylisseans many years ago... it was said that the Emblem and Falchion - the sword wielded by the Prince of Ylisse - were gifts from the Gods.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Gods? Like Grima?”

“Ah, most of Ylisse do not worship Grima.” Mustafa said. “Plegia is a Grimleal country but the rest of Ylisse worship their divine deity, Naga.”

Henry nodded slowly. “I didn’t know there was other Gods.”

“They did not teach you of Grima’s demise at your old school?” 

“Nope.” Henry said simply. “They only ever told us good stuff about him. He’s a Dragon? Maybe. I didn’t really listen. Sounds a bit crazy to me.”

Mustafa let out a hearty chuckle. “And me, lad. And me. Never have been the religious type. Yet they swear it is true... perhaps it is.”

“So... Gangrel is gonna threaten to kill the Exalt if the Prince doesn’t give him some rusty old shield?” Henry said.

“That’s how the story goes, lad.” 

“What if they say no?”

“I assume he shall kill the Exalt.” 

Henry nodded. “And if they say yes?”

“I still assume that he will kill the Exalt.”

“The war isn’t gonna be over soon... is it, Mustafa?” 

Mustafa suddenly wrapped an arm around Henry’s shoulders and drew him close, holding him and embracing him tightly. 

“I guess that means no.” Henry mumbled.

Mustafa chuckled. “We’re in this for the long run, boy.” 

“As long as we’re both in, I don’t care.” Henry said simply. “I’ll keep fighting as long as I have to. By your side, Mustafa.”

“You’re a good lad Henry.”

“You’re a good Dad, Mustafa.”

The air went still, for a moment Henry was worried that he’d said something wrong. And then he heard it - a dry sob coming from Mustafa. “Henry...” 

“You better not cry!” Henry said indignantly. 

“I’m not crying, boy!” Mustafa chuckled. “I just need you to know... I love you as I loved my own son.” 

Henry slipped his arm around the General and hugged him back. “I believe you. And I really like you a whole bunch too! So don’t go dying on me, okay?”

“I shall do no such thing.” Mustafa laughed heartily. “It would take more than an old shield and an angry prince to kill me, boy.”

“Yessir! And if I’m by your side, they’ll have an even harder job!”

Mustafa petted Henry’s hair fondly, warmth spreading through his heart. As long as he had family, he had everything. 

~

The Exalt’s body seemed to fall for hours. Time was at a complete standstill. 

Faces frozen in shock, in horror, as she plummeted. 

_Hand over the Emblem, or I’ll push her!_

She had jumped. Jumped so that her brother would not have to make that decision.

Jumped in front of thousands of Plegians. 

Her body must’ve hit the ground with some force. Not an exit designed for the Holy Exalt. 

Henry was usually undisturbed by death - but the sentiment of her sacrifice was not lost on him. 

The scene was in chaos. The Ylisseans had not brought enough soldiers to fight, they came to parley. They were weak, and Henry was on the strike force in central Plegia. He had prime viewing when the Exalt dropped. It was like being at a particularly macabre circus - quite to his tastes, too. Gangrel’s politics left him confused but the theatrics really were quite amusing. 

However, the current situation wasn’t to his tastes. Tasked with defending the King and his henchmen while the lapdogs chased down the Ylisseans. _Get the Emblem!_ Henry couldn’t believe it. Watching hundreds of Plegian soldiers chasing down a small group of rogue Ylisstol fighters and all over some old shield? He thought it ridiculous.

He wouldn’t mind being part of the show were Mustafa around, but he’d been given an important task from Gangrel himself. It looked like a chance to prove himself as the greatest General in the army. 

Henry thought he was already the greatest General in the army, anyways, but still he carried out the King’s work. 

He wouldn’t tell Henry where he was going, just that when they met again it would be in happier times. Perhaps he had inside information on how to end the war? Henry wondered that if the prince died, and the princess, and the Exalt was already dead... could Gangrel conquer Ylisse? Was that his plan? 

He wished that he knew. He wished that Mustafa had told him more, but he had insisted on keeping some of the details private. Henry has respected his wishes but now as he stood, defending Gangrel should the Ylisseans decide to counter attack, he felt nervous. A fluttering of butterflies in his stomach made it so that his thoughts wouldn’t rest for even a second. 

When the clouds darkened and the first raindrop fell, that’s when he made his escape. 

He didn’t care about Gangrel. Not one bit. 

He did care about Mustafa. 

Even if abandoning his post cost him his head, it would be a small price to pay for protecting the General. 

For protecting his Father. 

~ 

The rains fell hard. Plegia hadn’t seen precipitation like it in years. 

Mustafa stood, armed with his heavy axe, dressed in his furs and bone, on a long smashed down turret. He had always hated the Midmire. Long had he dreamed that the Plegian Kings would invest some of their gold into cultivating the land, building more housing for their citizens rather than investing in war. A pipe dream. 

His soldiers were soaked through. They shivered and trembled in their gear, lances clattering noisily against their chest plates. They were cold. They were scared. 

Many of them had seen the Exalt fall. Hell, Mustafa himself had seen it. Their station was over a mile away from the Plegia Castle Centre but that damned dragon skull could be seen from miles around - and even though the Exalt was as tiny as a little ant from their view, what she had done was as plain as day. 

A self sacrifice.

His men groaned, stomachs aching. They sensed that this was the true beginning of the war. They weren’t wrong. Everything beforehand had been a training exercise, a test. 

This was finally it. 

Mustafa had been given the highest of honours from Gangrel with his task - to prevent the Ylisseans from escaping. He was to slay the crown Prince, the Princess too, should she be here. She was but a lamb, not even of age to ascend to the throne... yet Mustafa was tasked with cutting her down. 

He had begged Gangrel not to force the duty upon him. 

_”M’Lord, I must ask that you reconsider... asking me to slay a child? King Gangrel, I could not...”_

_“You refuse your King’s orders? Why, General... that’s treason!”_

_“King, please, assign the task to someone else, I beg of you! To slay a child... a crime so heinous... I could not. I will not!”_

_“You have a child of your own, yes?”_

_“I do, King Gangrel.”_

_“Then how is this for motivation, Mustafa? If you don’t kill the little Ylissean princess, I’ll kill your little princess. And your pretty wife too. I’ll kill them with my own hands, I’ll cut off their faces and hang them on my bedroom wall! What say you, General, do you wish to see me carry good on my word?”_

_He had knelt at the King’s feet in submission. He didn’t allow himself to cry._

_“That’s more like it, General. Now, your station will be in the Midmire...”_

His hand had been dealt for him. He only had to see it through. He was the best General that Plegia had ever seen. He was not afraid for his life. Only for his family’s. He thanked God that Henry had not been assigned to his regiment. To have his own son see him slaying innocent children... his blood boiled. 

“General!” One of his soldiers called to him. “They’re here! Our scouts have reported the Ylisseans are approaching. They mean to escape through the central pits.”

“Good work, soldiers. Stand strong.” Mustafa said, and then he raised his voice. “To attention, warriors!”

His soldiers stood firm, as best they could. He could sense their trepidation. This was no ordinary fight, their valour, their spirit, was dead. 

It died with the Exalt. 

Mustafa trained his eyes on the horizon and as planned, the Ylisseans came into view. Barely thirty men and women, all soaked with rain and trembling. They weren’t prepared to fight. They were attempting to flee. 

He stood firmly. “Ylisseans! Give up your escape and turn yourselves in!”

The small fleet of Ylissean soldiers stood, shoulder to shoulder, much like his own warriors. However, their faces showed no fear - only determination and perhaps the deep, deep sorrow of their Exalt’s sacrifice. Mustafa thought it incredibly brave of them to be still storming through. 

“I shall not repeat!” he called. 

One stood forward from the fleet, blue haired and with a face marred and twisted with hatred. It could only be the Prince. Mustafa had never seen the prince with his own eyes before, yet the man’s fine garb told him all that he needed to know. 

“Ylisseans!” Mustafa called, addressing the prince more than anyone, but hoping at least one of them would hear his call. “I offer you mercy! Surrender to me now and live!”

A large gentleman, as broad and as tall as Mustafa himself, stepped to the Prince’s side, his face set in defiance. His voice was deep and booming as he called out. “Surrender? Sorry, I'm not familiar with the word.”

Mustafa would have chuckled at the man’s gaul, had the situation not been so dire. “Emmeryn would not have wished for this to come to bloodshed!”

Suddenly, the prince drew his sword - the gleaming sparkle of the famous Falchion reflected the moon’s glow onto his dark expression. He wasn’t a large man but he looked formidable, intimidating. Mustafa could feel the rage pouring from him in waves. “Don't speak her name!” Chrom bellowed, his body shook, with rage, with anger, with the desire for revenge.

Mustafa felt sickened to his stomach. The man had just watched his sister die, and here another Plegian stands before him - threatening their lives. Mustafa didn’t know which of his fleet was the Princess of Ylisse, but even so, the longer he stood in opposition of the prince, the less he felt inclined to fight. 

The prince began to approach, his sword still raised, Mustafa’s soldiers beginning to raise their own weapons despite the trepidation on their faces. 

“Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom.” Mustafa shouted. The rain poured down onto him, his fur was saturated with water, but heavier so was his heart. He wondered if he would be able to barter with the fleet. He was sure he could avoid culling anymore innocent life. “The meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me! I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can!”

“How can we trust you after what your barbarous King has done?” a tall, mounted Knight yelled, canting his horse to stand by the Prince’s side. “I think we shall take our chances with weapons in hand!” Their fleet quickly armed themselves, still shoulder to shoulder, and Mustafa felt his own army taking small steps backwards. 

He heaved a sigh. He had tried. Now, it was him, or them. “I suspected you would say as much. So be it, Prince Chrom. I shall endeavor to grant you a swift and dignified end.”

The prince didn’t wait before advancing. He charged wildly at the first break point of Mustafa’s soldiers, cutting them down mercilessly. In the Prince’s mind, these men and women didn’t deserve his mercy. But Mustafa knew these people had not wanted the Exalt’s death, they were blackmailed, manipulated, pawns in the dangerous game that their King had been playing. Such life wasted. 

He was helpless but to watch as the Ylissean fleet razed his warriors one by one - he could even see his soldiers were holding back, their motivation swayed, their sadness too great. A valiant woman on a pegasus charged down two Plegians with her lance, the Knight from moments ago brandished his axe with valour and ... a Plegian? Mustafa was sure he could see a young dark mage weaving through the Ylisseans, her robes and hair dark, the magic she was casting even darker. So, the Plegians had already began to defect. 

Among the fighting, the chaos, were the lowly bodies of common thieves - their nationality was hard to tell but thieves very rarely held allegiances for long. They picked the pockets of the fallen soldiers, not a care in the world. Mustafa noticed one of the Ylissean fleet, a man with fiery hair, was chasing them down and picking their pockets back. “What are those... thieves I see scattered about? So, they found our battlefield... They comb it for trinkets and spoils, then scurry away like mice.” Mustafa spat. “We shall bring them to justice later. First, the Ylisseans!” He had hoped his cry would inspire his army, but no such luck. His warriors seemed even more apprehensive than before. 

One of his soldiers turned to him - he was drenched by the falling rains, a sorry sight. His eyes swam with emotion. He knelt and address Mustafa directly. “Forgive me sir, but I... I no longer see the justice in hunting these people down. I accept any punishment you see fit, but after all that's happened...I just can't.”

Mustafa took a deep breath. He had assumed that it would come to this. 

Another soldier canted forward on his wyvern. “How dare you question the general's orders!” he yelled. “You know full well the punishment of insubordination is death!”

“B-but, sir! These people are...”

“These questions are not ours to ponder, lad. The soldier does not judge. The soldier delivers judgment.” he said, but his tone was not harsh. He, himself, had lost the gaul to fight. How could he very well lead these men to their deaths when he no longer believed in the cause? He looked to the skies, allowing the rain to dampen his face. What would Alcinder say?

The first soldier knelt harder at Mustafa’s feet, and dropped his lance. “Sir, I... I cannot raise my lance against them. Even if... even if it means death.”

The distant sounds of the approaching Ylissean’s permeated the silence. “You were there when Emmeryn spoke, weren't you?”

The soldier nodded, and as Mustafa looked around at the nearby warriors he noticed they were all nodding and bowing their heads too. In the distance, he could see his men and women continuing to fall at the hands of Prince Chrom’s army.

“So be it!” he shouted. “Those of you unwilling to fight are dismissed!”

“But I don't wish to abandon you, sir!” the soldiers called, in varying tones. He was their General, he was kind, he had trained them with compassion. Their hearts bled.

“I cannot defy the king, lad. I know him well.” Mustafa sighed deeply. “He would murder my wife and child to set an example. I will accept the blame for your actions today. Now go!”

A few of Mustafa’s army did just that, bowing their heads to the General and running for their lives. He had taken the sacrifice - he wondered if Emmeryn would approve of his actions. He would allow Chrom to take his life today, should it come to it. He would allow his blood to be paid back in revenge. 

“W-wait, General!” the first soldier stood again, grabbing his lance and standing firm. “I see a cause worth fighting for, one I believe in... loyalty to my general.”

Mustafa gently took the soldier’s shoulder in his hand and squeezed it with affection. Some of these Plegians had bravery in droves. “Aye. That's a good lad.” 

The Ylisseans had arrived. Mustafa stood in front of his remaining soldiers, brandishing his axe. Whatever happened now, was meant to be. He believed that truly. He only wished he could’ve said a firmer goodbye to his family. 

Chrom stood directly opposing him. From this close, Mustafa could see every line on his young face etched with nothing but pure hatred. 

“I am General Mustafa of Plegia.” he shouted. “If you wish to keep your lives, then you must win them!”

“We intend to win.” Chrom replies venomously. “You will pay for what you have done. You will all pay!”

Mustafa did not bother to raise his axe, hoping at least this show and pretence of valiance would be enough to carry back to the King in order for the mad man to spare his family. 

Then Chrom struck.

~

Henry had never seen rain this heavy before, in all his life living in Plegia the rains had never fell this hard.

His chest ached, his legs were weary. The Midmire was not far from the capital but the rains had turned the sand wastes into a treacherous marsh and he struggled to wade through. 

As he forged through, he was surprised to see Plegian soldiers running in his direction. “Halt!” he cried out. “Where are you going? Where are the Ylisseans? Where is the General?”

“H-he told us to run,” a soldier called, “he told us he would take blame for our defection!”

Henry stopped dead in his tracks. “And so you left?” he shouted. “Turn around! Now! How dare you abandon the General?!”

“Henry... the Ylisseans... we can’t fight in good faith...”

“Good faith?! So you will allow them to take the General’s life to keep your own conscience clear?” Henry yelled.

Nobody spoke, avoiding his eye contact. They slowly began to leave.

Henry’s blood boiled and he snapped. He hadn’t felt this rage since Pilfin. 

A quick rustle through his tome and he called upon Ruin. The marshy ground moved as if it were alive as Henry’s magic sent sickening dark waves through the air - the spell hit the defectors, ripping them apart from within. Their blood fell to the swamp alongside the rain, their mauled bodies falling afterwards.

Henry didn’t waste a second, charging forward with renewed vigour and fear. Any Plegian soldier he saw running, he slaughtered on the spot. He wouldn’t spare them. Not one single soldier would escape his judgement. 

He knew something was wrong, he had felt it in his chest the minute he abandoned his post by Gangrel, but nothing could’ve prepared him truly for what his eyes witnessed as he crossed the Midmire’s final stretch.

Only tens of Plegian soldiers had stayed. They all lay dead on the floor, their bodies pierced with Ylissean steel. 

In the centre, lay Mustafa.

“No!” Henry’s voice seemed far away from his body, his veins pulsed, his heart slowed, and before he realised it he could taste vomit rushing up his throat. He forced it down, forced his body forward. “N-no! No, please no!” 

“H-Henry... is that you, my boy?”

Henry fell forwards, by Mustafa’s side. He was bleeding, his stomach pierced. “Mustafa... Mustafa... why... why?!”

Henry pressed his hands down hard onto the gaping wound in Mustafa’s stomach, blood oozed out fast and thick, staining his snow white skin. “Someone get me a healer!” he was screaming, his voice sounded far away from his body. His head was swimming, his thoughts rushing by faster than he could consider them. His hands felt hot. “Get me a healer, somebody help!” 

Nobody was there to hear his cries. 

The scene was long dead, bodies were everywhere. Hundreds of Plegian soldiers, lay dead on the floor. No dignity. 

“H-Henry...” Mustafa was choking on his blood, his beard matted with thick, clotted streams of it as it oozed from his mouth. He had coughed it up.

“Don’t speak!” Henry begged. “Save your energy, please...”

People rushed past, some crying, some screaming, Henry could no longer tell who was from the Halidom and who was Plegian. “Please help!” he called to them. But nobody stopped. Everyone just blurred into one whooshing, moving mess of colours and shapes. Tears stung his eyes. “Please help!”

He turned to Mustafa, the General’s eyes were closing slowly, his hands were holding Henry’s as Henry grasped at the wound helplessly. “Lad... let go...”

“No! I won’t!” Henry shouted, he was slumped over Mustafa’s body. Why didn’t he learn healing magic? Why hadn’t he tried harder? “Please don’t die, please don’t die Mustafa... please don’t die!”

“It’s my time...” Mustafa sighed, his body was becoming lax, the energy slowly leaving his soul. “Henry, please,” he coughed, he was struggling, “make me a promise...”

Henry let the tears fall. They were hot and fast. “I will, I will. Anything...”

“You saw... y-you saw her?”

Henry nodded. “She j-jumped...”

Mustafa took a deep breath, and shouted out in pain as a fresh wave of blood oozed from his stomach. Still, he steeled himself and spoke through the pain. “The war... it needs to stop lad...”

“How can I make it stop?” Henry begged helplessly. “I’ll kill them all, I’ll kill every single one of them! Mustafa I promise I will not stop until every fucking Ylissean is dead by my hand! I will never forgive them for this, I will never, ever forgive them!”

“No, boy.” Mustafa heaved. He stared earnestly into Henry’s eyes. “You need to... to switch sides...”

“What?! Join the Ylisseans? Mustafa I-“

“Listen t-to me, Henry.” Mustafa begged. His breathing was slowing. The life was leaving his eyes. “Find Prince Chrom. Join his cause... he fights... f-for nobler reasons than we...”

“I can’t...” Henry sobbed, “Mustafa I can’t join the army who did this to you... don’t ask me to! I can’t! I won’t!”

“Boy... m-my life is just one... of many...” Mustafa said gently, “a necessary sacrifice... in a needless war. Don’t let this bloody m-mess go on any longer... help the Halidom... Gangrel is mad, I tell you. Mad.”

Henry nodded, still breaking his heart with his tears. He held Mustafa’s hands tighter than he’d ever held anything, his tears fell hard and fast like the rains above him. “Why did you do it? Why did you keep fighting? Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you run alongside the Plegians who fucking abandoned you? Why did you fucking stay? Mustafa why did you stay...”

“He threatened... m-my family...”

Henry felt it before he realised it was happening, the rage boiling within his blood. He was sure Mustafa felt the change in his energy too. “I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Aye, lad,” Mustafa smiled, and let his head drop. “Stop Gangrel. Unite Plegia... with Ylisse. This war... end it. T-tell Marun and Tira... I died nobly...”

“I will. Mustafa I will! I promise. I promise I will! I’ll look after them forever...” Henry let his head fall forward onto Mustafa’s chest. “P-please... do you have to die...?”

Mustafa let out a weak chuckle. “This is it, boy.” he looked up at Henry, and weakly reached up to pet his head. “I n-need you to know... I love you as I loved Alcinder. I really do... you weren’t his r-replacement. You’re a new son... a son in his own r-right...”

“Mustafa...” Henry sniffled, and held the General tighter. “I never loved anyone like I loved you.”

A few seconds passed with no reply. 

When Henry looked up again, Mustafa’s dark eyes were glazed over, staring up at the rain that they could no longer feel. 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate you a lot - and it makes the work super worth it when I know it was well received by even one person!
> 
> Thank you, again.


	5. Grimleal Grievances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~! 
> 
> I’m so sorry to any readers who have been waiting for this to be updated!! I understand it has taken me quite some time to get a new chapter out. 
> 
> I hope it is worth what you waited for it! 
> 
> Also please check out this beautiful fan art that was created by the amazing artist @__alayyae, based on the last chapter!  
> https://twitter.com/__alayyae/status/1279809419962839042?s=21  
> It’s so beautiful and perfect and I feel so honoured that she made this beautiful piece inspired by my work! Thank you so much Ale ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> i know this whole fic has had blood and gore etc but i just thought i’d mention to double check the tags as this chapter has triggers for the following  
> \- BRIEF MENTION OF CONSIDERED SU*CIDE  
> \- DESCRIPTIONS OF V*MIT 
> 
> stay safe!

It took Henry five hours to get Mustafa’s body back to the capital. 

He had no strength left in his poor, fragile bones, he was weak, exhausted and weary beyond reasoning. The rains had made everything all the more difficult, battering down with renewed vigour.  Alternating between using his magic and trying his damn hardest to carry Mustafa’s hulking, 6” form in his fragile arms - opting for as graceful a drag as he could muster - had been the best he could manage. 

It was hard, exhausting work. His body felt apt to give up any second. But he persevered, every step and drag back to the capital. He just couldn’t leave his Father’s body out there in the marsh. He wouldn’t. 

Marun did not seem surprised - almost as if Mustafa had warned her that his life may be lost that night. She had forced Tira to stay in her room. Henry could hear the young girl’s crying even now, echoing in his ears; haunting him. 

They had buried him out on the open plain once the rains finally subsided. Henry had showered, his heart aching, quietly sobbing as he washed the blood from his hands. Scrubbing his skin, shaking with sorrow. Guts and sand and the stench of death was all over his body. He vomited more times than he could count, hunched over the bowl in the washroom, eventually emptying his stomach and having nothing to do but to dry heave. All he could taste was salt from his tears, bile from his stomach. 

_ Why him...? _

He ached more than he had ever ached, every muscle in his body screamed out. It was almost as if he didn’t feel it, the pain in his heart was greater than any physical injury. He felt like a slumped carcass with barely a soul left within it. He wished for himself to die. He felt no reason to continue.

Marun prepared Mustafa’s body, cleansing his skin, rubbing balm onto his pained face. She washed the reams of matted blood from his beard, combing it gently. Henry had watched her silently from the doorway. He wanted to help, he wanted to hold her and comfort her, but this was her moment. The last moments she would have with her husband. 

_ Does she resent me? _

She dressed Mustafa in formal robes, gorgeous glittering robes with yellow trims, and only then would she let Tira see him. Her screams pierced Henry’s heart more than his ears. Her Father, dead on their dining room table. 

_ Will she recover? Will she go mad? _

His sanity felt like it was slipping from him. This family kept him rooted on the spot. If it weren’t for Marun, and Tira, he would’ve ran like a mad man possessed to find and slaughter Gangrel with his bare hands. 

Henry dressed in some of Tira’s robes - she was the closest in the family to his size, after all - he didn’t think he would ever get the blood stains out of his own. 

Mustafa looked so peaceful. His glossy eyes shut, his face at peace. Henry gently rested a hand on his handsome face, his thumb tracing the side of his beard. A beautiful life. Lost.

_ He’s with big brother now, isn’t he Mom? _

The open plains weren’t far from their family home, and Marun carried Mustafa’s body - a warrior in her own day, before motherhood. Her biceps flexed easily, her strong, muscular body taking the weight of her husbands across her broad shoulders. 

“Rest, Henry.” She had whispered when he offered to take the weight. “Allow me to take the weight of this grief...“

He obeyed. Marun was a strong woman. Even in the face of death, she was warm. She was kind. Henry held Tira’s hand, listened to her gently sobbing, whispered reassuring comments to her. 

_ I will make sure Father didn’t die in vain. _

The city was silent. Everyone who wasn’t a child or a General’s wife had been enlisted under Gangrel’s order. How many Plegians died was yet a mystery. Hundreds, thousands.

None of them mattered. Not to Henry. 

Henry imagined those who had lived had caught up to the Ylissean army by now. He imagined one side had fallen. He wondered, if it truly ends in Gangrel’s death... then what? What would Mustafa have wanted of him then? 

He helped Marun dig a grave, using magic when he finally found the energy within his veins. He needed, more than anything, to rest. He barely found energy to speak. 

Tira lay by her Father’s body, as big brother Henry and Mother dug the grave, holding his hand. She spoke softly to him, made promises into his ears. Her tears fell to the sand. 

“Can you help me lift him, son?” 

Henry looked up into Marun’s kind eyes. He could see her pain there, first her son, and now her husband. 

He somehow found enough strength in his muscles to gracefully lower Mustafa into his shallow grave, and he sobbed weakly as they gently buried him beneath the sand. 

Once the grave was filled, the sun was rising. A sunrise as red as blood. 

They watched it together, Mustafa’s grave by their side. Marun held Henry’s hand, pale and fragile. 

“The war...” she said softly. “It ends tonight. The King or the Prince will fall.” 

Henry rubbed his eyes, his voice came out as a squeak. “I should have been there. I should have avenged him.”

“You did more than avenge him, Henry.” Marun said with kindness. “You honoured him. You brought him _home_. I can’t imagine the strength it took to do such a thing... you’re a brave lad. A strong lad. A _wonderful_ young man. This is a deed far kinder and greater than another slaughter.” she paused. “He was so proud of you, dear.”

Henry swallowed thickly to stop his tears from spilling yet again. 

“Cry, child.” Marun whispered. She opened her arms and Henry fell into her embrace. “He loved you, dear. I love you.”

“Me too.” Tira said weakly, sleepily. She shuffled forward, falling into the warmth of her Mother’s arms. “I miss Dad...” She sniffed weakly into Marun’s shirt.

They lay together as the sun rose, Tira eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

“He wants me to defect.” Henry said softly, so as not to stir Tira. 

“I know.”

“You do?”

Marun laughed, that airy, tinkly laugh of hers. Henry could tell it was forced. “He told me everything, darling. I knew that Gangrel had threatened our lives... I knew he planned to die last night.”

“Why wouldn’t he fight?” Henry sniffer sadly.

“Gangrel wanted him to murder the Princess of Ylisse. She’s just a child...”

Henry winced. “He’s sick. I hope he’s dead. But at the same time... I almost don’t want him to be dead... I’d like to kill him with my own hands.”

Marun rested her hand gently on Henry’s head. “Whatever happens, we will deal with it together.”

Henry nodded. “Will we...? Am I...”

“You’re my son, Henry. Whatever you do, I will support you.”

~

Gangrel fell that day. 

Henry only knew vague details but there were whispers among the surviving Plegians that it was Prince Chrom himself who struck the mad King down. They say Falchion gleamed as if aflame when he did. 

The treaty was signed that day - a peace honouring between Plegia and Ylisse. The war was over, Ylisse had won. 

Just as Mustafa had wished.

Yet it wasn’t enough. Henry felt no respite, not satisfaction. How could he rest, or move on, when his Father’s life had been used as a pawn in some sick and twisted plan? 

Mustafa had been just another one of Gangrel’s scapegoats. A means to an end. Bloodshed that the mad King wouldn’t have paid mind to whether he had survived and won the war... Mustafa’s name would not be honoured. His memory would not be treasured. The soldiers who had abandoned him at his post had long forgotten their glowing, gleaming General. 

It was enough to drive Henry crazy.

He had stayed with Marun and Tira for quite some time. Tira grieved daily, her tears shaking the house. First losing her brother and now her Father? She was a child. Too young to have to see and feel the pains of war. Marun was more solitude in her grief, but Henry saw the solemn sadness in her dark eyes. A widow. A mourning Mother. 

As time went on, he began to feel like an intruder. Unwelcome. Not for anything they had done, as they had been nothing but generous and graceful and accepting, but the shortly forgotten darkness of his own mind that Mustafa had once quelled was slowly beginning to creep back into the forefront of Henry’s thoughts. 

If Gangrel hadn’t died by Chrom’s hand, Henry himself would’ve tortured him. He almost wished that Gangrel _had_ lived. He fantasised almost daily of killing him, tearing his limbs off one by one, watching the blood ooze out of his mouth just like it had with Mustafa. 

He repeated Mustafa’s final wishes in his head daily, a private mantra, a worship, whispers to keep him away from insanity. 

_ You need to join Prince Chrom. _

It didn’t matter to him now, anyway. The war was over. They were at peace. The entire world was at peace. 

But not Henry. He didn’t think he would ever feel peace again. 

~

All good things must come to an end, or so they said. 

With the fall of one King came the rise of another. 

Over the course of a slow, peaceful two years, Plegia rebuilt its reputation. Fortunately - in ways - King Gangrel had been a stingy and scrupulous man. Plegia remained _inundated_ with riches, as the mad old bastard had been too resourcefully cruel that barely a penny had been spent. 

The news got round to the common folk, of course. The thought of their loved ones and relatives being sent to war, some armed with farming tools, while King Gangrel hid away a vault full of Plegia’s riches turned their stomachs. 

So many lives could’ve been saved if that gold had been properly invested. 

The new King seemed set to do just that, or at least he did at first. His name was Validar, an imposingly tall man with sharp eyes and a wicked grin. Yet despite his intimidating appearance, Plegia slowly regained its grace. Towns were rebuilt and reinvested in. Henry even joined the cause. 

Building those houses and fleet ships up with his bare hands had felt like penance... a worthy suffering that paid blood back in Mustafa’s name. 

He didn’t speak to many of his colleagues and fellow civilians. Henry had gained quite the reputation during his spell under Mustafa’s command - they were quite a formidable duo to behold on the battlefield. Stories of their wicked valour had travelled, as most news did. The Plegians were still frightened of Henry.

Even more so now that he was in mourning. They surely thought he would snap at any moment. 

These stories had reached the King’s ears, also. A dark mage boy with a natural talent for slaughtering wasn’t easy to hide, seemingly.

Henry had been personally approached by Aversa, once King Gangrel’s left hand woman, and now Validar’s.

_ The old King had little interest in magic folk such as ourselves, dear boy... King Validar holds sorcerers much more highly in regard... he’s recruiting for a new army, boy. A fearsome dark mage such as yourself would do wonders on his frontline... you could be great, darling. Your name will go down in history... think about it. _

He had beamed a cheery grin, promising that he would consider enlisting. Perhaps this new King was going to do right by his people. 

Yet Henry knew, deep down in his heart, that this new King wasn’t building an army for self defence. He recognised the robes, the markings, and that sinister aura. King Validar was _undoubtedly_ Grimleal. Henry hated to judge but after his scathing and bloody history with the cult, he wasn’t going to trust this new King so quickly.

He knew in his heart, at the first sign of war, what he would have to do. 

Even if that meant abandoning Marun, and Tira, and his own countrymen. 

He knew he would have to allege with the Halidom. 

~

The Valmese attacked first. Headed by some terrible warlord seeking to conquer the entirety of Ylisse.

Henry was weary. How many more mad generals and Kings did one world really need? 

It was whispered among the common folk that the Plegians were to unite with Ylisse to combat this new threat from the West together. King Validar had already organised a meeting with Chrom himself - in the flesh or so the story went.

Henry thought it insane for the Exalt of Ylisse to tread into their deserts again and to arrange a _war_ deal of all things. How could the new exalt _ever_ trust Plegia again after what this country had done to his? 

Yet the Valmese were a threat far too great for Ylissetol’s army to fight alone - it was rumoured that they had a fleet of several _thousand_ battle ships. It was staggering. They could steamroll both Plegia and Ylisse in one organised sweep. An arrangement between the two smaller nations was all that could possibly be done. 

Henry felt trapped.

_ Is this what Father would have wanted...? _

Mustafa had begged for the end of the war. He got his wish - at a terrible cost - yet now, only two years on, another war was threatening to break out. 

There were no two ways about it - he had no choice but to enlist. Yet this time he vowed to fight for honour, for reason, and to honour Mustafa’s final wishes. 

There can be no more war. 

~ 

King Validar was even more intimidating in person, close up, than he was stood upon his pedestal. 

Henry stood firm on his enlistment day in the open grounds of the castle, many other soldiers and - would you believe it - other mages and sorcerers. 

Henry had never seen so many qualified mages in one place in all his life - not even the incarceration Grimleal school had been this populous with magic folk. Where had they all come from? 

He knew Validar was to blame. Drawing out these sorcerers who had most likely been in hiding whilst Gangrel was in rule - after all, the Grimleal were a feared group - and now they stood, bubbling with dark energy. 

_ If these shady bastards had been enlisted under Gangrel’s rule, Mustafa may not be dead. _

He had passed the acceptance test to join the army, of course he had. Henry’s magic potential was plain to see by even the King himself. “I expect great things from you, boy.” Validar had snarled at him. 

_ You’ll get great things. If you lead this country well. _

~

Chrom came within weeks, accompanied by a small fleet of his best soldiers. Henry had watched them cross the Plegian castle gates and couldn’t help but notice the suspicious glances they cast at every single Plegian. Not that he could blame them. Their countries had been at odds for hundreds of years. To join forces was almost unthinkable. 

They were taken to a small room away from the Throne room, while King Validar arranged his troops. “ Just in case the Ylisseans turn on us...” he had said. 

Henry was suspicious. All of the Plegian soldiers were armed, the sorcerers wielding dark tomes... they were being prepared to _fight_.

He decided to abandon his post - getting an awfully familiar feeling in his stomach as he did - slipping away from the other soldiers unnoticed. He was sure Validar was just being precautious... what would he gain from slaughtering the new Exalt? Surely he also was worried about the Valmese? Plegia couldn’t take on Valm alone. There was no way. 

But that feeling in Henry’s stomach wouldn’t pass. He had to be _sure_.

He crept through the castle, his heart rate unusually high. 

_ The troops are lined outside. Just beyond those doors are Validar, and probably Aversa... then where have they moved the Ylisseans too? I need to find them... _

As he was paused mid step, he heard the low clicking of a lock. He stood still, training his ears carefully. 

“Is somebody there?” he called out, stepping towards an open doorway to his left.

There was a pause, and then a deep voice with a slight lisp replied. “Depends who’s askin’.”

Henry frowned, stepping through the doorway to find a man crouched down over a small, wooden casket on a side awning. “I’m asking.” 

The man stopped fussing with the casket’s lock to look at Henry. He was tall, well over 6” and he towered over Henry. He was wearing a long, black cloak that billowed over his shoulders and down his back and an oddly placed, messily tied headband around messy ginger hair. He seemed to have something sticking out of his mouth - a stick of some sort - which explained the slight slur to his words. “Oh. You’re just some kid.” he shrugged. “Then yeah, somebody’s here. Now scram.”

Henry frowned. “I can tell you’re Ylissean by your accent. What are you doing here by yourself away from your group?”

“None of ya business, kiddo.” the man replied. 

“You’re trying to steal whatever’s in that box.” 

“And?” the man snapped. “What are ya, law enforcement? Start ‘em young in Plegia, huh? Whatever, kid, scram back to whatever royal chamber you came from.”

“I didn’t come from a royal chamber. I’m in the King’s army.” Henry snapped. “I should kill you right here for this.”

“Do it, Junior. Trying times, these. The sweet relief of death can’t come quick enough.” just as he finished his sentence, the lock on the casket clicked open. “Ah, sweet!”

“I wouldn’t open that, if I were you.” Henry said tersely.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that, Junior?”

“Firstly, my name is Henry.”

“Nice to meet ya, Henry, but you’re as Junior as they come - except maybe little Ricken the Kitten - so I’ll stick to the nickname. I’m Gaius.” he tapped his nose. “Don’t tell anybody you saw me here, ya hear?”

“Fine. My lips are sealed. As long as you put down that box.”

“What’s so scary about a little old box?” Gaius sneered.

“It’s a reeking box.”

“I don’t even know what that is, kiddo. It was locked tight which tells me it’s got gold inside.” he then proceeded to carelessly lift the lid on the little casket and a flash of black magic erupted from inside, causing him to jump backwards in shock.

Henry slowly reached forward and slammed the lid shut on the box. There was a heavy silence in the air as the magic dispelled. “Told you.” 

The look on the ginger thief’s face was so funny that Henry couldn’t help but burst out into hysterical giggles. “What’s so funny, kid? I could have your head off in three seconds flat for that! What even _was_ that? I mean it kid! Stop laughing! I’ll cut your damn tongue out!”

“Oh, please. I can summon spells that would rip out your lungs faster than that, silly. Please don’t test me.”

“Oh, yeah? One of those spooky little mage kids, huh? Try it, pipsqueak. I’ll gut ya right here!”

Henry rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “You’re lucky I’ve kind of sworn off the whole ‘murder people for the fun of it’ thing, since my Dad died.”

Gaius pulled a face. “If you’re trying to creep me out, Junior, it’s working.”

Henry giggled. “Okay. Enough of this. I was gonna kill you but turns out that you’re just an idiot. I can’t, in good faith, murder you. So you’re free to go. Scurry back to your Exalt like a good little soldier.”

“Damn Junior what is up with you, huh?” the thief pulled the stick from his mouth - turns out it was a lollipop of some kind - and frowned. “I’ll have you know I don’t scurry back to anyone! I go where the price is high. I’m not some goodie two shoes.”

Henry smiled wisely. “Okay, okay. I get it. Look, we aren’t getting anywhere here. I only came to make sure everything was... well... I’m not sure. This whole thing has gotten me on edge. The last time Plegia and Ylisse batted heads my Dad died. Chrom killed him, by his own hand, you know.”

“That’s pretty rough, kid.” Gaius responded. “Sorry to hear that. I take it you’re gonna try and kill Chrom then? That’s what you’re here to do?”

“What? No!” Henry chuckled. “No, that’s silly. My Dad wouldn’t have wanted that. I wanted to just make sure that the Exalt and King Validar wouldn’t fight. I really don’t want there to be another war. There was once a time I would’ve loved for nothing more than war... to relish in the pain and suffering of others... to see them suffer as I once did... but now... I want nothing _less_. Good people have suffered enough.”

“You have this astonishing way of going from creepy little gremlin to holy priest in the space of three seconds and it’s really unnerving me.”

“Hey! I just said I wanna stop war, that’s good! And don’t call me a gremlin. I’m Henry.”

“Okay. Okay. _Henry_. You know, you couldn’t stop a war even if you wanted to.” 

“I would try.” Henry said simply. “Are you gonna try and stop me from going to see the Exalt? Because I promise you that I would find it rather easy to end your life.”

“Nah. You gotta do what you gotta do, kid. And if I’m bein’ honest, I agree with ya. I told big Blue that old Spindle Beard was a dodgy one but he won’t listen to me. He thinks I talk out my arse. He doesn’t realise I have connections. I don’t really give a shit, though, he can do what he wants politically as long as I get paid.”

Henry listened as Gaius rambled on. “I didn’t understand most of what you just said. Who’s big Blue? What does talking out of your... arse... mean?”

Gaius slipped the lollipop back in his mouth. “Blue is my nickname for Chrom, I ain’t got time to remember everyone’s names kid!”

“But you can remember all of these nicknames...” Henry mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Gaius frowned. “Right. Listen, I know your King. Val... whatever his name is. Spindle Beard. Easier to remember.”

“You know him?” Henry said curiously.

“Yeah. I told big B- I mean... I told Chrom. I’ve worked for him before.” Gaius shrugged. 

“Wait... you’ve _worked_ for King Validar?” 

Gaius nodded simply. 

“You’re Ylissean!”

“Yeah...”

“Validar is a _Grimleal_ Plegian!”

“Money doesn’t discriminate, Junior.”

Henry frowned. “So you work for whoever is paying you the most.”

“Uh huh. Pretty much.” Gaius shrugged. “Listen, I’ve been around, kid. I’ve seen some shit. I don’t know much about politics... but none of ‘em are right. I don’t agree with any of them. Make the rich, richer, and the poor fight their wars for ‘em and eventually die. Why am I gonna stick my life on the line for an honour I’ll never receive...?”

Henry listened to the thief, hating how much his sentiment made sense.

“The point is, life’s too short to go lookin’ for glory or honour. So I look for money, and I look out for myself, and I spend my money on the finest chocolate truffles that gold can buy. Or sometimes I steal the truffles and keep the money. Whatever I feel like on the day.”

Okay, maybe not so much. 

“Anyways, long story short, Kid, but Validar is a bad, nasty piece of work.” Gaius said. “I’ve done some real shit jobs for this man in the past but his pockets are fuckin’ deep if ya catch my drift. He’s got gold for days.”

“What sort of jobs...?” Henry asked slowly.

“You’re not gonna like this.”

“Tell me.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “The last job I started for old Spindles, I never finished. That’s where I met B- I mean, Chrom.”

“What was the job?”

“King Validar was the one who first organised an assassination on Exalted lady Emmeryn.”

“ _What_?! Wait... _that_ assassination attempt... in her own castle?!”

“The very one. One my honour as a dishonourable man.”

“Wait...” Henry shook his hair in confusion. “I _know_ that attempt... I helped prevent it.”

“No way, Junior. I was there in the flesh and I ain’t remember seeing your creepy little ass in the castle.”

“No, you misunderstand.” Henry sighed. “I wasn’t there. I just knew that it was going to happen.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” Henry sniffed. “It was happening just as I enlisted for the first time in the Plegian army. I was... well. I was excited to be in the army. Firstly for the prospect of murdering people...”

“You are fucking _crazy,_ you know that?”

“But mostly because... I had just met my Father. Well. My adoptive Father. We were bonding on the battlefield... when I thought that Emmeryn was going to die... I thought the war would be over. I thought I wouldn’t get to fight with him anymore. I wasn’t ready to lose him.”

“That’s... damn. That’s real sad Kid.”

“...I heard rumours from one of the border city’s leaders that _Gangrel_ was organising an assassination on Emmeryn, and I thought that if he went through with it and Emmeryn died then the war would be over too quickly. I thought if Emmeryn died, Mustafa - my Father - wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Fuck. That’s really fucking gloomy. You been through some shit kid.”

Henry nodded sadly. “I warned the remaining Taguel, begged her to stop the assassination.”

“Ah... you mean Panne.”

“Yes! She _hates_ Plegians and she _especially_ hates Grimleal and so she really didn’t want to trust me... but she could see my flock of crows...”

”Your flock of _what?_ ”

”...circling above my head, and they spoke to her! They explained to her that I had good intentions...”

”Hold on a fucking second... crows can _talk_?”

”...of course they were lying for me, my intentions were purely selfish so that I could have more time with my Father...”

”Kid, you’re _really_ giving me a lot to unpack, here...”

”...but she believed them and she said she would travel to Ylissetol and help prevent Emmeryn’s assassination! All this time... I thought that had just been another of Gangrel’s plots!” Henry paused to look at Gaius’ dumbfounded expression.

”Sorry... I’m still kinda confused about the part where you said that crows fucking _talked_.”

“That doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is this whole time I blamed _everything_ on Gangrel. Now I’m finding out it goes way deeper than I ever imagined.”

“Honestly, Junior. I don’t even know what to say to ya. Christ. All this because you wanted affection from some... what did you say? Adoptive Father?”

“Yes. He was a General in the army. He was all I had and now he’s gone anyway.”

“That’s really... man. I’m sorry kid. That’s really rough.”

“Anyways...” Henry said softly. “You really are sure it was Validar? And not Gangrel?”

“I swear it, kid. I was part of the assault force. Chrombo caught us, naturally, and I feigned ignorance. O’ course I didn’t _want_ to kill her, but I would’ve had it come to it kid.”

“Validar has history with Ylisse already...” Henry sighed. “I have a bad feeling about this...”

“You and me both, Junior. If Validar kills old Blue today I’m gonna have to defect _again_ , which is a nuisance considering I just found the nicest little bakery on the Southern border that bakes these little sugar buns and by _Naga_ are these things good...”

Henry was about to interrupt Gaius’ rambling when King Validar’s voice called out. “Exalt Chrom and company, you may enter the Throne room!”

Gaius and Henry froze. 

_ What do I do...? _ Henry wondered. _I can’t just murder King Validar... someone new will just rise to power and then that will start a war... what do I do? What can I do? What would Father do?_

“I better go, Junior.” Gaius said quietly, gesturing to the door. “Listen. Don’t do anything stupid. Just obey your orders, don’t get killed, and enjoy whatever you can make out of this pitiful piece of shit we call life.”

“You’re a real gloomy old thing, aren’t you.” Henry chuckled sadly. 

“Old age does that to a man. Be good, Kid.”

And with that, the thief disappeared out of the room, leaving Henry alone and confused. 

He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what Mustafa would’ve wanted him to do.

But he _did_ know what Mustafa himself would do. He would go back to his post and obey his King’s orders. 

And so that’s what Henry did. 

~ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for kudos and comments - I can’t even explain how much more confident I feel when I read the replies. They make me so happy! 
> 
> If you wanted to catch up or be friends or mutuals you can find me at  
> twitter: sugarbungaius, where i shitpost and occasionally share my chibi art  
> discord: Nova#6003, i Admin a Fire Emblem server and we are happy to welcome new members if you’re looking for an active community! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoyed <3 ^_____^


End file.
